Well, we sold our house, and we’ve been very, very busy doing it. We haven’t been living on reds, Vitamin C and cocaine. More like coffee, quercetin and saltines. But still, what a long, strange trip it’s been.
Here’s the listing for it on Zillow: It’s got lots of pictures for the insatiably curious.
We lived there a long time. For fifteen years or so I’ve been banging on the thing the way Mike Tyson used to bang on undercard palookas who graduated too soon. You know, before Iron Mike hit retirement age. I’m older now, and can’t bang like I used to either. Luckily, I can’t bang on the house anymore anyway. I don’t own it.
It didn’t look much like it does in the SOLD listing when we bought it. Here’s the front facade on the day we went to look at it in order to calculate our poverty/opportunity/lack of judgment quotient.
I’m a bad photographer. But not that bad. My hands were shaking so hard from the cold I couldn’t hold the camera still. Here’s the way the back of the house looked while we conned ourselves into thinking we could fix the place without calling in an airstrike, after a call to an insurance agent, of course:
My wife is quite sensible, except for that unfortunate incident years back that ended in I do. My personal POLoJ quotient has always been heavily weighted towards the LoJ portion of the dial. But even by my standards, we really pegged the needle on this one. For instance, we needed to lift the entire back of the house between 6 and 8 inches, and slip a foundation under it, because the old foundation had lifted its masonry skirts years ago, yelled eek!, and ran off into the night. I testify to you that it’s not possible to lift a house and live in it, too. But we did it somehow. I stand by my assessment that it’s impossible, though. I’m stubborn, you see. Sometimes it helps. At any rate, it turned out all right:
Of course in its original state, it was loaded with charm. No house is complete without some sort of plunge to your death feature. Millions of homeowners are currently ripping out the balustrades and handrails on their staircases to achieve the totally open plan that a raccoon-eyed harridan on cable teevee demands, but we don’t settle for modest dangers like that. Look for a home with a side yard like this, and you’ll be cutting edge:
Truly, that’s a very short stairway to heaven if you’ve been a good boy, or other accommodations if you’re like me. This house had lots of fun stuff like that. When we moved here, the kids were still young, and we still liked them. With the kind of parental piety that is in short supply these days, we cautioned them to stay out of the yard, and play in the middle of the street where they’d be safe. We did fix it, eventually. By then the kids were taller than their mom and talked in a Barry White baritone and played Halo online, like God and nature and Bill Gates intended.
We did a little work on the interior, too. For instance, I’m informed that murder houses are a “thing” now, and people fall all over each other to get their hands on houses that smell of lime in the basement and get featured on cable teevee shows. They all missed an opportunity at our house. I don’t think anyone was ever murdered in our house, but only because both the murderers and the victims were too afraid to linger in a house with a bathroom like this one. Viz:
We gave it some spit and polish:
If you haven’t sold your house recently, it’s interesting to note that you’re not supposed to have anything to do with any prospective buyers. I’m not sure if the real estate agents don’t want them to talk to you, or you to talk to them. I think they’re either afraid you’ll lie to a buyer, or forget to lie. One or the other. So you have to beat it when anyone comes to see it, while they ask the realtor all sorts of questions about the house they have no idea how to answer. You get feedback from the agent about what was said, which you can take with a cylinder of Morton’s Salt. Our favorite was the buyers who wandered around our house for a good long while, and then asked, “Is this house staged?” The realtor replied, “No, I think they actually live this way.” Yes. Yes we do. Or did, I mean.
So, we’re homeless now. I’m out of practice with sleeping rough. Except for, you know, the inside of my old house for about ten years. I’m finding it plenty difficult to locate park benches that aren’t currently occupied, and it’s near impossible to find a good newspaper printed on real paper any more. As the bums in Boston used to say, ” I like the Sunday Globe. You know, for the coverage.”
[Many thanks to Steve, and another anonymous donor, for their generous hit on our Ko-Fi tip jar. It’s greatly appreciated!]
16 Responses
Looking forward to reading all the stories the new abode has waiting for you.
Congrats!
Hi Jean- Thanks. I’ll be sure to write about the cardboard box we’ll eventually be living in. What kind of dumpster we’re behind. Inquiring minds want to know.
Any seller’s remorse at this point?
We lived in our humble abode for 27 years, which was 22 years longer than we had planned. We wuz a-gonna trade onward and upward, but there’s something about hundred year old walls (and 80-year-old plumbing) that tend to anchor you there. We left when I retired and we were no longer tied to a city we could clearly see dying of self-imposed wounds.
And yet, when the time came for me to make the last walk-through by myself, I ended up crying a little bit at abandoning the old place to new folks. And yes, much to the realtor’s horror, I had insisted on meeting them before we closed the sale. A nice young couple, and from what our old neighbors tell us, they’ve done very nicely by the house.
I’ll be fascinated by what you live in next and where it is. A yurt in Outer Mongolia? A log hut in Northern Maine? Perhaps the patented melting adobe house in New Mexico? Hmm, you can shuffle “adobe” with “abode”; maybe they mean the same thing.
Best of luck wherever you end up. I can’t be the only one who thinks you turned an irredeemable wreck of a house into a beautiful home for you, your wife, and your kids.
Hiya Blackwing- Thanks. As far as seller’s remorse goes, we’ll have to sober up before offering an accurate appraisal. That could take weeks. However, I’ve already got a little. I’m somewhat remorseful I didn’t sell it 11 years ago.
End of an era! I’m fascinated to hear what’s next. Selfishly hoping it involves at least a small amount of LoJ, so that I can enjoy reading and also feel better about my own.
Hi warrant242- Not to worry. My bandaged finger always wobbles back to the candle flame.
A-Ha! You must like to Kiple. The Gods of the Copybook Headings are pleased.
So, in the market for a vinyl snouthouse with ceiling fans? They can be had.
My own spec for our current abode was, I want to be dead before I need to work on it.
On schedule so far.
Well, congratulations on freeing yourself from the house, probably a good time to sell. Now for the painful part, finding a replacement. But it should keep you busy, and us entertained, so, winning?
Best to you both.
Oh Boy Sippican–do I have a great idea for you and the mrs! As you know we have a 62 year old cabin in MT! The site is 40 miles out of town in an isolated area. The driveway is easy enough to manage. There is a beautiful river 1/2 mile away.
Now–here’s the deal: we need to level the floor in one area where the surface level foundation shifted. I am told it will not be to hard to do this. I would like to add a wrap around porch to cover the area around the base of the cabin and have some wonderful outdoor sitting space at the same time. The roof is in excellent shape as are the walls–no insulation but solid built!
The offer: you two come and set up a small trailer for three months this summer and see how much work you can get done while still enjoying the great outdoors and MT!
Whatever you decide please know that you are wished a very Happy and Healhty New Year!
Hello Anne- That’s an insanely generous offer on your part. However, my wife pointed out to me that in a small travel trailer, it would be difficult for her to push a pillow over my face in the middle of the night, what with one elbow hitting the plexiglass porthole, the other whacking the gimbal stove, her foot in the sink, and the cat on her back. Also, it’s likely that we’ve permanently joined the ranks of home remodelers who rely on gasoline, matches, and insurance to do all the heavy work. Thanks anyway!
Dear Sippican:
Sorry to hear you won’t be coming out this summer. With regard to using fire and insurance as a solution, I must tell you that here in timber country it is very difficult to get “fire insurance”! Go figure 🙂
You did a tremendous job on that house, from plumbing to floors to heating systems. Your stories on the house rehab were well worth the reading, Reminded me of my ten childhood years of living in a construction zone while my father remodeled the house room by room.
My guess that selling the house relates to empty nesters downsizing. That house is too big for two people.
Thanks, Gringo- One the pleasant side effects of writing about our misadventures is the way it occasionally elicits memories from others who have done the same sorts of things. And you guessed our ultimate, at least partial rationale. Our children are out on their own, and we rattled around the place.
Amazing work. You will be “home” wherever you are, and I love your writing!
Betsy
Hello Betsy- Thanks for reading and commenting and for your kind words about my scribblings here at Sippican Cottage.